


A Rose by Another Name (The Story of What Could Have Been)

by BrookeLynnBridges



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Childhood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Forced Marriage, France (Country), French Revolution, Heartbreak, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical Figures, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parenthood, Realistic, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:49:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeLynnBridges/pseuds/BrookeLynnBridges
Summary: What if Belle hadn't shown Gaston the magic mirror?What if she had accepted his proposal in exchange for her father's freedom?How, if that moment had played differently, would the story change?Read this story and find out.
Relationships: Adam/Belle (Disney), Beast/Belle (Disney), Belle/Gaston (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Vanessa Luque, Lauren Marsh, and Carolita Claus.  
> (This is an Old Fic, Please Judge it Kindly)

** Prologue **

Belle watched helplessly as they dragged her father away, locking him in a caged wagon like a common dog. They were taking him to the asylum.

_Papa…_

She had heard of that place, it was a fate worse than death.

The villagers’ cruel laughter rang in her ears, bitingly criticizing her father’s description of a horrible monster that lurked in the woods.

Her father wasn’t crazy! But how to make them see? They wouldn’t believe her. They would think she was just as insane as her father. They would both be riding away in that cage or worse.

Maurice was a man, he had some protection under the law. Even an insane man would be allowed to live, but a woman?

If the town had a mind to they could claim her a witch and have her drowned in a dunking stool, or by some other means of enlightened medieval torture.

She felt a lurking presence behind her, engulfing her in its shadow. She turned to see the broad shoulders and expansive chest of a mountain! Her eyes quickly shot up to the surprisingly concerned face of Gaston.

In her moment of panic, Belle clung to the one sympathetic figure in the crowd.

“Poor Belle, shame about your father.”

“You know he’s not crazy Gaston.”

If anyone could help her it was Gaston, the town’s people worshipped him. Surely he could convince the asylum warden to let her father go.

“I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding, if…”

“If what?”

Anything. She would do anything to keep her Papa safe.

“If you _marry me_!”

Belle reared back in shock.

_Marry Him? Marry Gaston? He must be crazy!_

“What?”

“One little word Belle that’s all it takes.”

She wouldn’t, she couldn’t!

_The mirror!_

Belle grasped the first idea in her head.

Of course the mirror!

It could show her the beast, it could show them.

Then they would see her father wasn’t crazy!

Gaston would see the beast and…

_And he’ll kill him…if Gaston sees the beast, he’ll hunt him down and kill him._

She couldn’t show him the mirror. No matter what, Gaston must never see that mirror! He would kill the beast, her friend, her…she wouldn’t let that happen.

“SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!” Maurice cried.

Belle turned to see the carriage begin to move, taking her father away.

What could she do? WHAT?

“YES!” she blurted. 

Gaston raised a hand, the wagon stopped rolling and everyone listened to hear what she would say.

“Yes _what_ , Belle?” Gaston leaned down so as not to miss a word.

She took a deep breath and with all the pride she still possessed she looked him in the eyes and said.

“Yes, Gaston, I will marry you.”

Time froze for a moment and then regained its pace by the sound of Gaston’s deep laughter.

“I knew you would come around. YOU, bring the old man back I can’t have you mistreating my father-in-law!”

The crowd, that only moments before had been mocking him, now turned towards Maurice with words of congratulations and neighborly acceptance.

How fickle is the crowd?

Roughly shoving her from behind, Gaston shooed her up the stairs of the porch commanding her to start packing. He would be back with a priest as soon as he could rouse the old man from his sleep.

Belle watched him walk back towards the village followed by the singing crowd boasting of his unsurprising success in winning her hand.

She felt like she was in a dream, or dead. She didn’t feel anything. It was as if someone else was controlling her body as she opened the door and began laying her possessions on the bed, preparing to leave her home forever.

She heard the soft plunk of Maurice’s stockinged feet scurry to close the door and then slowly approach her.

With concern and confusion etched across his sweet childlike face, he took her hand and turned her face to his, halting her packing.

“Belle?”

It was too much for him.

She looked at the sweet old man with all the love in the world. All her Papa had ever wanted was for her to be happy and to keep her safe, but he couldn’t.

For the first time, Belle realized how helpless her father was. He lived in his own fairy world where no one meant him any harm because he meant them none. Her poor papa, how others mocked and misused his honest trust in them.

From now on their roles would reverse, though he would never realize it. Belle would spend the rest of her life protecting him from the coldness of the world, when, if he had been capable, he should have sheltered her.

She knew her smile was wooden and false, but hoped it would be enough to deceive him.

“Don’t worry Papa, everything is going to be wonderful. Gaston and I will marry and you will grow old spoiling your grandchildren. I couldn’t be happier.”

Maurice studied her face. Apparently, a father’s desire to believe in his child’s happiness can blind him to a poorly concealed lie. Beaming, he scuttled up the stairs, his little legs straining to carry his rotund frame up the narrow stairway.

“D-Don’t look, BELLE! I have a gift for you!”

Despite the horror of the situation, she smiled at her father’s excited flight.

She returned to her packing, feeling her heart drop a little more with each item. A small clicking sound distracted her from the unpleasant task at hand. Turning, she saw a forgotten little friend staring up at her.

“CHIP! I had forgotten you, oh no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong Belle?” The small teacup asked.

Kneeling she picked him up carefully in her hand. “Chip, you must go back to the castle, right now!”

“Are you coming too?”

Belle felt fresh tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “No Chip, but you must do as I say. If the villagers find you I am afraid of what will happen, and I am sure your mother is very worried about you. You didn’t tell her you were coming here, did you?”

If he had had feet Chip would have looked at them in shame. “No I didn’t, but won’t you please come back, your father can come too, I am sure the master wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment she let herself imagine how wonderful life would be, spending the rest of her life in the castle with Maurice, and the Beast. But she couldn’t, Gaston would never stop looking for her. He would hunt them down, no matter the cost, and that was something she just couldn’t risk.

“No Chip, you must go.” She carried him outside to the edge of the wood, setting him down in the snow, and watched him disappear into the darkness. Turning, she ran back into the cottage with renewed speed. Gaston would be there any minute and there was still one thing she had to do.

As she closed the door behind her she could hear the stomping of Maurice’s feet on the upstairs floor as he rummaged around for whatever it was he was searching for.

_I have to hurry. Gaston is coming._

Running to the small table next to the bed, she retrieved the saddlebag. Inside she found it, the magic mirror he had given her.

Belle slumped down on the floor by the fireplace, cradling the mirror in her arms.

This time when the tears came she didn’t hold them back.

Staring at the polished smooth surface, she thought of him, the Beast, and her heart broke.

He was the kindest, most gentle being she had ever known. He was no monster, and he had shown her that neither was she. He had loved her for herself. Never once criticizing her love of books, or ideas. But more than that, she had seen the kind, understanding soul beneath the villainous appearance, and she loved him for it.

The tears came unbidden and uncontrollable. She couldn’t even bear to ask the mirror to show him again, she just cradled it close and whispered to the one who could never hear her.

“I love you.”

With those words she raised the mirror high above her head and brought it down on the hard stone hearth smashing it into a million pieces, breaking her last link to him.

_No one must ever know. They must never find him._

Gaston could never be allowed to know the truth of Maurice’s words. The great hunter would not rest until the head of the beast was mounted on his wall.

No hunter, no villagers living in fear of the monstrous villain in the woods, waiting to attack, and no way for her to ever return.

This was the only way to keep them all safe, all those she loved; Beast, her friends in the castle, even Papa.

They must never know that it was all real......never know that she remembered.

The sound of breaking glass sent Maurice flying down the stairs.

Seeing his daughter sitting in a pile of glass, he rather clumsily tried to help her stand and move away from the hazard.

Gracefully, Belle rose from the destruction. Taking her Papa’s large, clammy hand in her small slender one, she allowed him to lead her away from the hearth.

“Now Belle, you must be more careful!”

Looking at her face, Maurice’s concerns returned. She wasn’t crying anymore. She had reverted back to the living dead, but the remnants of her feelings were still apparent on her face.

“Belle, are you sure…”

“What’s that Papa?”

She couldn’t bear to hear his questions. If she thought about it she would scream.

Her question had been to throw him off, but once it was spoken she realized that he was holding something.

Maurice looked down with a small smile, unrolling the cloth in his hand he revealed a dress.

The style and cut were clearly from a fashion long since passed, but the dove grey gown had obviously been well stored and showed no signs of wear. The old-fashioned sleeves were edged with lace that was just beginning to discolor with age. It was not an expensive dress, even in the time it had been procured, but it had been nonetheless very special to its original owner.

“Your mother wore this when we got married, and I had always hoped you would too. When the right man came along.”

_The right man, oh Papa, if you only knew._

Finding a genuine smile, if only for a moment, Belle took the gown from her father’s hands.

“Thank you, Papa.”

Gaston banged on the front door with brutish energy, impatient to collect his new bride.

The door opened and out walked a beautiful young woman in a dove grey dress.

Her face calm and resolved, like a beautiful wooden doll who feels nothing. He offered her his arm, and they walked down the stairs to the wedding waiting below.

_The Forest_

The tiny teacup hopped through the snow. It would take hours for him to get back, maybe even longer.

 _Why wouldn’t she come back?_ He thought.

_Doesn’t she like us anymore? Did we do something wrong, why did the Master let her go?_

Poor Chip struggled with the weight of his unanswered questions.

With the hope of a small child, he thought that naturally, everything in life turns out the way it ought to. So, when they didn’t, he couldn’t reconcile it to his way of thinking. And instead of realizing that sometimes things don’t happen the way they should, with no fault to the participants, he decided that he must have done something wrong in convincing Belle to return, and it was his fault.

He continued on, saddened and confused, lost in the world of thought.

He was brought back by a bright light.

It was blinding, everywhere he looked all he saw was the blinding white light. It engulfed him and was oddly soothing. Chip felt as if he was floating, higher and higher far away from the cold snowy forest. Up above the world, flying through the clouds surrounded by the light.

In an instant, it was over and the light vanished. He was again in the dark forest covered in snow. But something was different…did the trees shrink?

He stared at the forest around him. What was different? Chip scratched his head in contemplation…

_Scratched my head?_

You had to have hands to do that, and a head. DID HE HAVE HANDS?!

Chip stared in shock at the two perfect hands in front of him, THERE WERE FEET TOO!!!

The little boy jumped joyously up and down. His wildest dreams had finally come true! HE WAS HUMAN AGAIN!!!

_Mama! I wonder if she’s human too._

With unbound able energy, he ran through the forest, eager to see if the rest of his family and friends had shared in his good fortune, completely forgetting about Belle back in the village.

_The Castle_

Cogsworth ran through the castle corridor…on his new legs! Sliding to a stop in front of the large double doors of the Master’s rooms, his rotund frame nearly pushing over Lumiere and Mrs. Potts.

“Eh watch it, fatso.”

“Lumiere not now.” Mrs. Potts reprimanded.

“Where is the Master?” (Cogsworth)

“He’s still in there.” (Potts)

“Well, why doesn’t he come out?” (Lumiere)

“Now we must be patient, this is a lot to take in.” (Potts)

The three continued to wait outside the door until their curiosity got the better of them. Cogsworth took the initiative (he was blackmailed) and knocked on the ancient door. When no response came, he hesitantly pushed it open and the three cautiously entered.

On the other side of the expansive room, staring out the led-pained window sat a handsome man with long red hair.

“Master?” (Cogsworth)

“Leave me.”

“But Master, the spell has been broken. We are human again!” (Lumiere)

“What does it matter?”

Mrs. Potts pattered over to the young man whom she had known his whole life. She had been more of a mother to him than his own mother, and now she looked at him with all the love and knowledge any maternal figure could offer.

“Dear, don’t you realize what this means? Or have you forgotten? In order for us to be free now, you must have learned to love another…and earned her love in return.” (Potts)

She watched as realization struck in his blue eyes. “Earned another’s love, BELLE LOVES ME!”

“Why of course she does, you Casanova!” (Lumiere)

“Master may I take this opportunity to offer my congratulations.” (Cogsworth)

“I have to go see her!” The Prince jumped to his feet and ran towards the door, only to be stopped by a surprisingly agile former candlestick sliding in front of said door blocking his exit.

“Not so fast! You can’t court a girl looking like THAT!” (Lumiere)

The Prince looked down at the oversized shirt and trousers that drowned him.

“You need to sweep her off her feet!” (Lumiere)

“Lumiere does have a point Master. You love this girl and she you, it wouldn’t hurt to clean up first.” (Potts)

“And, might I humbly suggest, a rrrrrrrrrrrr-romantic gesture.” (Cogsworth)

“Oh YES!” (Lumiere and Potts)

“Like what?” (Prince)

“You could ride to zee village on a great stallion!” (Lumiere)

“Perhaps bring the lady a gift.” (Cogsworth)

“Oh, Roses would do nicely.” (Potts)

“Zen you get down on one knee.” (Lumiere)

“Wearing a fine suit of clothes.” (Potts)

“A-And with a ring!” (Cogsworth)

“You confess your Love!” (Lumiere)

“She says it back.” (Cogsworth)

“You take her in your arms.” (Lumiere)

“Bring her back to the castle.” (Potts)

“And Live HAPPILY EVER AFTER!” (Lumiere)

The sheer excitement emanating from the group was electric, and the Prince found himself caught up in it. They spent the rest of the night planning to the last detail the grand day (the morning) when he would go get the woman he loved.

_The Next Morning, Path to the village._

It was like a scene from a storybook, the handsome prince riding towards the village in his blue coat and holding a bouquet of roses, atop a white steed.

His heart was light and he looked around at the scenery with a new sense of wonder, the birds sang happily, the sun shone brightly, and the grass had never looked so green. Everything appears grander when you’re in love.

As he exited the forest he could see the tiny village in the distance. With a burst of energy, the horse galloped across the clearing towards the nearing town. This was the happiest day of his life, and with the good cheer of one who is in love and knows he is loved in return, he wished the whole world know of his good fortune, and to feel just as happy as he.

As he entered the village, he found it abuzz with excitement, there seemed to be a giant celebration taking place that everyone had been invited to.

His curiosity piqued, riding along the edge of the crowd, he approached a stout man with a ruddy face, and a long white apron covered in flour.

_Clearly the baker._

Pulling his horse to a halt, he greeted the villager warmly while trying to avoid his horse bolting from the strain of so many people being pressed together in the square.

“Excuse me, good sir, might I ask what all the excitement is about?” he asked.

The baker turned to the richly dressed stranger with a hearty smile.

“Of course Monsieur, the whole town is celebrating a wedding, the biggest I’ve seen!” the baker replied.

With a heart full of good cheer and thoughts of his own hopeful upcoming wedding. The Prince wished to congratulate the couple and wish them all the happiness he hoped to share with his own beloved.

“Why that is wonderful! Tell me, sir, where might I find the happy couple?”

“They should be coming out of the tavern any minute now, though I doubt they slept much.” He chuckled crudely.

“There they are now” replied the Baker.

The Prince turned his eyes towards the direction the Baker pointed. There he saw a very tall and handsome young man and on his arm was…. _Belle?_

 _No_ , he thought _it can’t be_.

He felt as though his heart was breaking in two. _But how? Why? She wouldn’t, she CAN’T!!!_

He watched as the groom put his arm around Belle’s waist. The Prince could taste bile. That was supposed to be him!

 _Why Belle, WHY?!_ He silently screamed, wishing some magical force would let her hear him and answer

Belle’s face scanned the crowd of well-wishers. Finally, she glanced at the stranger on a horse near the rear of the mass of onlookers.

_Please Belle, Please look at me…. Look at me, Please, I came, I came for you. Please, you have to see me. Just LOOK AT ME!_

For a moment their eyes met, and his heart stopped beating.

He held his breath, waiting, hoping, for the recognition of the woman he loved.

_….It’s me, Belle. Recognize me, you have to recognize me, I love you, I love you, Belle. Please love me too! See me, SEE ME! Please, you have to…_

She looked away….. And at that moment he felt more pain than he could possibly bear. The man hunched forward clutching his heart as if he would rip it out of his chest, maybe then it would stop hurting.

_No….no, no, NO! Why Belle?........WHY? You can’t! I love you…..I came……please……I came….too late….I came too late…_

The Baker turned back to the stranger seeing him hunched over his horse clutching his chest.

“MONSIEUR!!!! What is wrong shall I call the doctor?”

The stranger struggled to shake his head no. He straightened as much as he could and turned to watch the newly married couple walking away.

With an unsteady hand, he handed the Baker a bouquet of Red Roses.

“Please,” he said between sharp breaths. “Please….. Give these to the bride….and tell her……tell her…….I wish her happiness.”

The Baker took the flowers from the shaking hand and was shocked when he looked up, the face that only moments ago had seemed so young and full of life, was now aged ten years and racked with pain.

“Please Monsieur, let me get a physician. You are not well.”

The stranger shook his head and turned his horse to leave.

As he rode away, the prince could not stop the tears from flowing down his face, he felt as though his world had darkened forever. The one he loved could not be his; no pain in the world compared to this agony.

_Be happy Belle, please be happy for me. Let me at least think of you always as happy………Goodbye, my love._


	2. Chapter 1: An Omen

** Chapter 1: An Omen **

_7 years later._

Belle felt like she was dying.

Please let her die, at least then it would end.

She grabbed the headboard, digging her nails into the wood as another contraction hit, wracking her body with pain.

She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming; she did that purely on instinct. Truth be told, she didn’t care who heard her yell. Let the whole town hear! She was going to die here in this bed and then it wouldn’t matter.

“Madame, you are not going to die. It won’t be long now.”

_Of course, I am going to die! No one could possibly live through something this painful._

The old bat had lied.

An eternity passed and it still didn’t end. She felt as if she was being torn in half; her whole body was on fire. Through the haze, she could hear far-off voices speaking to her only to be drowned out by a fresh wave of pain.

“Push! Don’t hold the child back, PUSH!”

_Hold it back? Are they crazy?!_

No one was more ready to have this child than she was.

Belle was tired of being pregnant and would gladly never be again.

Her body hadn’t been hers in months. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. For nine months she had grown increasingly more uncomfortable and miserable until she didn’t think she could stand it a moment longer. All that discomfort and anxiety culminating in the most frightening, painful ordeal imaginable, and supposedly she was trying to prolong it by holding the baby back! It was amazing anyone survived this because she certainly wouldn’t.

A sharp pain unlike any before brought Belle hurdling back to reality. The commands to push were pointless because her body took over instinctively seeming to know what to do, and then it was over.

Exhausted, Belle fell back against the pillow, too tired to even lift her head.

She looked over the end of the bed at the gaggle of midwives huddled together like a pack of conspiring old witches. She could hear a baby screaming with the power of a grown man.

A middle-aged woman broke free from the flock and carried the screaming bundle over to the bed.

“Congratulations Madame! You have a healthy daughter and quite a beauty.”

Somehow Belle found the strength to hold out her arms as the midwife laid the soft bundle in them.

The moment she held her, the baby quieted and snuggled close. Calmed by the presence of her mother, instinctively knowing that this place was safe.

All pain and discomfort were forgotten as Belle held her baby for the first time. Belle looked at the soft downy chestnut hair, tiny nose, and perfect fingers and toes. She was perfect, so tiny and absolutely perfect.

An overwhelming sense of love-filled Belle as she stared at the tiny sleeping baby. She couldn’t describe it, but she knew that she had never loved like this before, and until the day she died, nothing could ever break the love she felt for this child, **her daughter.**

The Baby opened her eyes, staring curiously up at her mother, revealing a pair of exquisite violet eyes. Belle gasped, redirecting the attention of the five odd midwives to the baby.

“OH MY!”

“Look at those eyes.”

“I’ve never seen any like them, have you?”

“Not I! She is surely something special.

The oldest of the midwives, a woman who was 100, if she was a day, crossed herself religiously. Lifting a boney finger in warning, she shook it at the new mother and infant, her raspy voice was full of foreboding and mistrust.

“It’s an evil omen. A child with such eyes will know an uncertain future.”

The old hag was silenced by the others, telling her to shut her stupid old mouth, pronouncing the baby beautiful and her eyes unique.

Belle ignored them, too wrapped up in the joy of new motherhood. She continued to look at her tiny daughter, who stared back with an intelligent gaze, full of curiosity.

The peaceful moment between mother and child was broken by an unwelcome intruder.

The door to the already filled room burst open with aggressive energy.

In stepped Gaston, an overeager grin on his face, and barely contained excitement in his eyes.

“Where is he? Where is my son?”

Belle’s moment of joy had been dampened by his entrance.

She stared at him, her _husband_.

Strange that after all these years he was just as much a stranger to her as the day they married.

Seven years, such a long time, a lifetime really. How much had changed, how much remained the same?

She had only been 17 when they married, Gaston 20, and a day hadn’t gone by that their two dominating personalities hadn’t clashed.

Some days it was just an underlining irritation, others the tension would boil over into a shouting match that could wake the dead.

And what was the main cause of all the suspense?

For seven years they had been married, lived together as husband and wife, and for seven years they had remained childless.

They would never understand each other, but one thing had been very clear since the beginning, Gaston wanted sons, and right away.

The thought of having children with the man she suffered to be her husband filled her with disgust.

In the beginning, she'd found it unthinkable. It would have been an acceptance of their marriage. It would have damned forever the illusion that this was all just a horrible dream.

But as the years went by she grew to accept her life for what it was. She was _Madame Gaston_ and nothing would change that.

Also, as time passed, and there was still no baby, she began to share his frustrations.

After all, Belle did love children, and perhaps having one of her own would breach the widening gap between husband and wife, and make her own life less lonely.

And now finally Belle had a child, and she was perfect.

“Monsieur you have a lovely baby daughter.” The midwife said.

Gaston stared at the woman in shock. The idea of having a girl never occurred to him. 

“A girl? No. Where is my son?”

The midwife backed away at the change in his tone.

Now enraged Gaston glared at the group of women demanding an explanation. He had waited for SEVEN YEARS! For a son, his son, so where was he?!

The mountain of a man clenched his fists, his normally handsome face ablaze with rage.

How could this be?

He was supposed to have a boy!

_This was all her fault! Belle, she was the reason, it was all…_

Gaston stopped in his tracks when his gaze finally found Belle’s horrified face. Her normally reserved features now looked back at him in blatant shock. Her hazel eyes were weary and held a note of something he had never witnessed there before…hurt.

He looked around the room at the expressions that mirrored his wife’s.

Trying to recover from the situation Gaston lowered his voice and gritted his teeth, trying to contain his disappointment and frustration.

“No matter, next time a boy.” He gruffly kissed the top of his wife’s head before exiting the room, slamming the door behind him.

_Next time…a boy._

It sounded more like a threat than a hope.

The woman all stood quiet, the shock on the midwives' faces was evident. Apparently, Gaston’s behavior was too much even for them, which was surprising.

If it was possible, the town’s hero-worship of Gaston had only increased through the years. Their blind, sheep-like loyalty was almost laughable. If Gaston said the night was day then even the sun would be hard-pressed to correct him.

The head midwife, probably self-appointed, turned to the others.

“Well, of course, he wants a son, any man would.”

Murmurs of agreement quickly sprang up from the others, if anything, Monsieur Gaston should want a son more than any other man, he was a great hunter and had a legacy to pass on. The group further reasoned that Gaston had only behaved naturally, dare they say respectably given the circumstances.

Their excuses of the husband, however, did not mean that they were turning against his wife. If anything this realization deepened their sympathy for the woman, who after so long, had only managed to have a daughter.

They proceeded to quietly reassure her that boys would follow, and they would pray for her future happiness.

They all seemed in agreement on this, that is except for the oldest.

The woman who had cursed the new baby as something to be watchful of now spit on the worn wooden floor and hissed through cracked teeth a curse on the man for his arrogance. Could she not make up her mind?

Once again she was shushed by her younger compatriots who threatened to burn the old witch if she didn’t mind her tongue.

Belle ignored them all and returned her attention to the sleeping baby in her arms.

She should have expected nothing less from Gaston than a tantrum.

_Spoiled child._

Though Belle was surprised that his reaction had hurt.

She didn’t think that was possible.

Oh, he frustrated her, was rude and demanding, narrow-minded and vain, but she had always known that, and honestly didn’t expect him to behave any other way. So it was a shock to know that he was capable of doing something that could actually hurt her. The look on his face at the news of their daughter had definitely **hurt**.

Belle looked at the angelic face of her little girl.

“Oh _ma Cherie,_ I wonder what kind of life you will have?”


	3. Chapter 2: This Time

** Chapter 2: This Time **

_1 year later_

Gaston paced the floor, wearing thin the rug beneath his feet.

 _This time it **must** be a boy! _He bitterly contemplated.

Another muffled cry resonated through the small house, interrupting his impatient pacing.

Taking a seat in front of the fireplace he poked the embers trying to reignite the blaze from the coals he had ignored.

_It will be a boy, she wouldn’t dare deny me again._

As Gaston reflected on his personal misfortunes, someone else entered the room.

Gaston looked down as she toddled around the room, reaching for whatever caught her fancy.

The chestnut-haired toddler had been completely forgotten in all the excitement and had used her newfound freedom to her advantage, as evidenced by the splattering of flour on her clothes.

As he observed his daughter, Gaston’s thoughts turned to what a disappointment she was.

Truth be told he had barely paid her any attention since she was born. In fact, this was the first time he had ever found himself alone with her.

It wasn’t that she was particularly troublesome; actually, oftentimes he found he forgot her existence entirely, it was just that wounded pride was an acutely painful affliction that was difficult to heal.

Ignoring her watchful father, the one-year-old continued her exploration of the room, for once unobstructed by her mother’s watchful eye.

Her large gaze caught sight of the shiny rifle propped against the hearth and animal-like curiosity drew her to it.

As her chubby little hands reached for the weapon a small foot caught on the rug, pulling her down to the hardwood floor.

He watched as she fell. He had a moment of concern before remembering that he didn’t like the child.

Any other baby would have cried for the sympathy of its mother after such a tumble, but not her.

Gaston smiled in spite of himself as he noted that there were no tears in her eyes, only a righteous fury.

She pushed herself up on fat arms, smacking the ground with an indignant little fist for betraying her.

Once on her feet, she stamped her foot on the rug that tripped her in outrage, tiny nostrils flaring angrily in frustration.

Gaston couldn’t help it and let out a loud belly laugh, slapping his chair so hard it shook the floor, causing the little girl who had just set herself to rights to fall back on her bottom.

He stood still chucking to himself. He picked up the child’s ragdoll from the floor and dropped it in her lap patting her head uncharacteristically.

The child looked up at him curiously with those large violet eyes, judging him with her intelligent gaze. Gaston’s temporary good humor left as he stared back.

(Sigh) “At least you’re a pretty one, that’s something I suppose.”

Ignoring his child once again he continued his pacing.

The little girl watched the big man with loud boots continue his walk. She couldn’t understand all the excitement. The only thing she did comprehend was that she couldn’t find her mother.

Oddly enough this didn’t frighten the small child; it only filled her small being with an irritating curiosity, after all, mama had always been there…so where could she have gone?

A baby’s cry broke the silence.

Gaston bolted up the stairs leaving the toddler alone and forgotten.


	4. Chapter 3: Reflections

** Chapter 3: Reflections **

_3 years later_

Belle knelt down on the damp ground retching into the flower bed.

_Not again! s_ he thought.

Using the edge of the rainwater barrel for support, she pulled herself up to stand on shaky legs.

_Please God, not again..._

This would be her fourth pregnancy, she couldn’t do it anymore!

Belle loved her children, but having them had never been easy on her, each time was more difficult than the last.

As her nausea abated she looked into the barrel. Staring back from the murky water her reflection judged her.

Her face, beautiful as always, now held an unmistakable permanent weariness that had settled over her features and in her eyes.

Smoothing a few stray hairs back into her neat bun her thoughts turned to her latest quarrel with Gaston.

He had come home in the wee hours of the mourning completely drunk! Not a common thing for him. If there was one thing Gaston was good at, besides killing animals, it was holding his liquor. And even though she was used to him coming and going as he pleased, this time he broke his own record of inconsideration.

In spite of herself, she had been concerned when he hadn’t come home, thinking that his luck may have finally run out and the wolves in the forest had won.

Any wifely feeling quickly died, however, when her husband sloshed in singing at the top of his lungs, the memory of which still gave her a headache.

She hadn’t argued with him about it, out loud anyway. She had learned that her life was easier if she gave into him in small matters, saving her strength for the big things, whereas once she would have fought for every inch. Patience was now a virtue she could lay claim to.

Of course, Belle wasn’t the only one who had changed.

Gaston was just as stubborn and vain as ever, but as the years had passed he had grown to respect her well-mannered nature and envy her more educated mind, though he would have never admitted it.

With time, he had come to realize her superior skill at working figures and her ability to read other people’s emotions as useful tools. Both of which eluded him and caused countless instances of frustration.

Slowly she had convinced him to yield to her in matters of finance, or at least with what was left after his trips to the tavern. And even though he still believed he ran his home in all capacities with an iron fist, it would be many years before he would realize how much he owed her for the countless details she quietly took care of before they could catch his attention.

 _Yes,_ Belle thought as she studied her reflection, she wasn’t pleased with her life, but she admitted, _it could be worse._

Picking up her basket of eggs, she headed back inside trying to beat the sun that was beginning its early climb into the sky. The children would be up soon…as should be Gaston.

_An hour later,_

Belle beat the dough into submission as she finished making the day’s bread.

She had been trying to save money by not going to the baker. Hopefully, she could save enough to buy new shoes for the children before winter. Gaston never thought of such things and always failed to set aside enough money.

_Doesn’t he realize that children grow?_

Looking out the window at the risen sun, she decided it was time to relinquish the quiet of the early morning.

Climbing the stairs, she went to wake the children.

Crossing the small hallway, she arrived at one of only two doors. Quietly, she opened it and peered inside, smiling at the sleeping little figures. They looked so sweet when asleep, too bad it couldn’t last.

Walking on silent feet, she approached the cradle first.

Leaning over, she looked at the sweet sleeping face of one-year-old Jacques. Brushing a few blond strands of hair from his forehead, Belle noted that it was beginning to change color and would probably be dark like his father’s one day. Blue eyes opened and looked back at her before closing again.

She smiled.

"Very well my love, sleep a little longer."

Leaving the toddler to his dreams, she moved to the bed where two small children slept.

Belle tried to stifle a laugh at the sight that greeted her.

One of the two occupants had managed to steal the blanket from the other and had rolled it around himself. But funnier still was that the other had managed to maneuver the offender to the very edge of the cot, procuring for herself the larger section and two-thirds of the pillow.

Kneeling down, she put herself on eye level with the three-year-old _Little_ Gaston.

_Only Gaston would be vain enough to name a child after himself._

The elder Gaston had been so proud at the birth of his first son that he promptly named the boy after himself before Belle had a chance to intervene.

According to Gaston, it was to carry on his, mostly imagined, legacy.

She kissed the temple of the dark-haired little boy whose hazel eyes looked back, unamused, from his quilted cocoon.

Belle stared back equally determined and whispered for him to get up.

The indignant child ignored her and tried to roll onto his stomach with a groan to avoid her gaze, but ran out of bed in the process and would have fallen to the floor had he not been caught by his mother.

Now fully awake from the shock, he kicked her away, grumbling something unintelligible, and stood, staring angrily at the still-sleeping child on the bed.

His little face was full of rage, and Belle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his serious demeanor. The three-year-old turned in a huff to go downstairs but paused. Turning back, he quickly snatched the pillow out from under his sleeping sister’s head and ran out of the room before the beast awoke and realized his act of revenge. The toddler's victorious babbling and laughter followed fading as he slid down the stairs.

The hard sleeper didn’t even acknowledge the theft, too lost in the world of dreams.

Concern filled Belle as she watched her sleeping daughter.

Jacqueline was only four years old, but already she showed an unbending will that worried her mother.

From personal experience, Belle knew that one must be willing to compromise, but her daughter showed no such inclination.

Brushing aside the rat’s nest of chestnut curls surrounding her daughter’s face, Belle woke up Jacqueline.

The little girl looked back with ill-tempered violet eyes.

Keeping a stern gaze on her face, Belle motioned for her to rise.

The little girl knew arguing would be pointless, but that didn't stop a stream of mumbled complaints.

Sliding off the bed, she looked determinedly at her mother who kissed her forehead. Annoyed, the little girl promptly wiped away the kiss. Smiling, Belle left her to dress.

Crossing the narrow stretch of floor that passed for a hall, she opened the door to her own room and an unholy stench reached her nose.

Crossing her arms, she looked at her husband, sprawled across the bed, boots still on.

She debated being kind, but she was still sore about the previous night’s recent discovery.

So, with no remorse, she picked up the pitcher of water from the washbasin and poured the contents over his head, knowing she would have to wash the sheets later for doing so but finding it completely worth it.

Gaston sputtered as if he was drowning, glancing up to see a very cross Belle.

“BELLLLLLLLLE!”

“WHAT?!”

Gaston just glared while water dripped off his nose. He didn’t know what he was planning on saying after that.

“Nothing to say this morning, _dear husband_?”

“What’s wrong with you now?”

Cold fire danced in her eyes. “A problem that you created!”

Gaston had never been one for riddles and nor had he the patience for them.

“Damnit Belle what are you talking about? AND WHY AM I ALL WET?!”

“I AM PREGNANT!” she announced unceremoniously. “AND YOU SMELL DISGUSTING!”

Slamming the door before he had a chance to respond and grabbing the baby from his cradle, she marched down the stairs to serve her children their breakfast.

The porridge was half gone by the time Gaston clomped down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. The news of a new baby always put him in a good mood.

With large, even strides he crossed the floor to where Belle was frying eggs.

Pulling her away from the stove he picked her up and kissed her passionately.

Setting her back down he sauntered over to the table.

Belle’s righteous anger was shocked right out of her as she watched her husband’s back. He hadn’t kissed her like that in many years.

Turning back to the eggs, she decided that although she was NOT pleased, remaining angry at him wouldn’t do her any good. Belle had learned long ago that manipulation, rather than force or tantrums, would get her farther. Despite what her actions that morning might suggest, that had been an increasingly rare occurrence.

Gaston took his seat at the table, though not before checking his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

Reaching a large hand across the table, he affectionately ruffled little Gaston’s hair, and leaning back to the high chair, he pinched the baby’s cheek.

Sitting ignored and unhappy at the other end of the table Jacqueline watched her father forlornly while her brothers received his affection. He didn’t even acknowledge her existence.

Seeing her daughter’s forgotten face, Belle’s heart broke.

_Later That Day,_

Belle hurried through the village, anxious to get to her father’s cottage. They were late already.

Hoisting Jacques higher on her hip, she practically ran past the butchers, fighting back the morning sickness that was irritated by the odors coming from the stall.

Despite her haste, she was careful not to upset the basket on her arm that was full of bread and eggs for her Papa (Maurice had never been a very good cook).

Slowing her pace, she began to walk leisurely as she neared the edge of town, observantly watching little Gaston and Jacqueline running back and forth ahead.

“Belle! Wait for me!”

Belle turned to see the cobbler’s wife running towards her, (not an easy task since the good woman was well endowed).

“ _Bonjour_ Madeleine, we were just walking to my father’s. Would you care to join us?”

The more rotund woman fanned herself with her apron, her large bosom bobbing up and down with each labored breath.

“Heaven sakes no my dear! You know someone as sickly as I shouldn’t be taxing herself by walking about!”

Madeleine d'Aboville had never been sick a day in her life, though you would be hard-pressed to convince her of that.

The woman was sure that the grim reaper lurked at her door, and she took great delight in telling her friends of all the ailments that befell her, basking in their tolerant sympathy.

A shameless gossip, no one would have trusted her for a moment with any vital information. However, those around her found it harmless enough to feed her folly with what they deemed irrelevant bits of idle gossip. Thus, Madeleine naively believed herself the most well-informed woman in the principality, and none took the opportunity to correct her.

Of her more redeeming qualities, Madeleine had a kind heart and, although never put to its full use, a mind of average intellect that, had she developed it, could have been much more. For these qualities, and the fact that she was one of the few to show genuine interest in her, Belle had come to think of the woman as a real friend in the town.

“Well, my dear Madame Gaston have you heard the news?”

“What fascinating tidbit have you garnered now Madeleine? Is the baker cheating on his wife again?” Belle asked indulgently.

The older woman waved her hand dismissively. “Hardly worth my time. No, my dear, I mean the talk of the prince!”

“The who?”

“BELLE! How could you have forgotten, the prince that had left years ago but returned again to rule this principality nearly a decade past!”

Belle sighed in frustration. “I forgot Madeleine because none of that nonsense has anything to do with my life.”

Belle felt guilty as she looked at her friend’s crestfallen face.

“What’s the news, Madeleine?” She asked trying to sound kinder. It worked—the other woman perked up immediately.

“Well, there is speculation that he will take a bride soon, and there has been a lot of talk about which lady in his court it will be, or perhaps he will marry a foreign princess.”

At the back of her mind, a memory came to Belle.

The memory of a large dark castle in the forest, and a frightening beast with claws.

A memory so long unthought-of it had passed into the realm of dreams. To the point where, on occasion, Belle wondered if it had _ever_ existed or if it had all been but a dream.

Shoving the memory aside, her attention was re-engaged by the sound of a child’s screams. Hastily bidding her friend farewell, she ran ahead to where little Gaston stood, crying his eyes out.

She knelt down in front of the little boy who was holding his arm and screaming with ever-increasing conviction. She looked to see a large bruise forming on his forearm. The little boy threw himself on his mother, who tried to comfort him while balancing the baby on her hip.

“Gaston, what happened?”

With his head still buried in her shoulder the toddler pointed towards his sister who had been watching the whole scene silently from a distance. Muffled, from her shoulder he spoke.

“SSShe… _*Sniff_ p-pupppp-inchhhh….ME!”

_*More tears._

Breaking free from the three-year-old’s grasp, she put the baby down and instructed the whimpering little boy to not move and watch his brother.

Careful to not go far, so as to be able to catch the boys if they bolted, she motioned the little girl to follow her a little way up the path. Jacqueline did as she was told, holding her arms behind her back and looking completely unrepentant.

Belle knelt down so she was on eye level with her daughter.

“Jacqueline, did you pinch Gaston?”

The four-year-old looked back completely unashamed.

“Yes.”

“Jacqueline, why did you pinch him?”

“He deserved it,” she said with the conviction of a priest, (wars had been waged with less conviction than that little girl’s statement).

“And what makes you say that?”

“He deserved it.”

Clearly, that was all the information Belle was going to receive.

“Jacqueline, you hurt your brother, now I want you to go and apologize to him.”

Jacqueline straightened to her full height. Poking out her little chest and raising her chin, she looked her mother square in the eye.

“I am not sorry.”

Belle stared back in equal determination. Deciding to take another approach, she continued to talk gently.

“Jacqueline, do you love me?”

That question took the little girl by surprise, she immediately relaxed her stance and nodded her head vigorously.

“Yes Mama, **very** much!”

The little girl looked hurt that her mother would doubt her love, and Belle’s heart melted.

“And I love you too, **very** much.”

The little girl’s face relaxed.

“But I also love Gaston, and it makes _Mama_ very sad when you hurt him.”

Belle watched guilt form for the first time on her daughter's face.

She may not have cared much for her brothers, but the little girl loved her mother and that emotion alone was strong enough to coax a conscience out of her.

Bowing her head in shame, the little girl whispered. “ _I am sorry Mama._ ”

Placing a hand on the girl's cheek Belle said. “I know _ma Cherie_ , but you must tell him that.”

The four-year-old nodded in agreement and Belle stood, taking the little girl’s hand in hers to lead her back to the other children.

When Jacqueline lifted her hand to her mother’s her sleeve slipped and Belle thought she saw a small bruise on her forearm in the exact same location as Gaston’s, but the little girl pulled her sleeve back before she could tell for sure.

Looking back at her son, Belle noticed a smug little look on Gaston’s face that now showed no traces of his previous tears.

She was about to broach the subject but a loud explosion sounded from her father’s cottage farther up the road.

Picking up the baby and grabbing Gaston by the hand, she raced toward the cottage, commanding Jacqueline to keep up.

_Maurice’s Cottage_

_*Cough_ “PAPA?”

Belle pushed back the cellar doors to reveal a wall of smoke.

“PAPA?”

As the smoke cleared, Jacqueline tumbled down the few steps into Maurice’s workshop.

“Whoa there!”

Belle breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her father’s voice. In moments she stood in front of her father and daughter.

“You must be more careful Belle, you know what your mother says about running,” Maurice said while dusting off the little girl. Belle (the real Belle) looked on in confusion.

Seeing her at the base of the stairs, Maurice straightened and placed his hands on Jacqueline’s shoulders.

“Oh, here she is now. Don’t worry Louise, she’s alright- no scratches to be found.” The old man said, smiling.

“Papa?” Belle asked the old man’s smile began to waver in confusion.

“Papa, I am Belle, that’s Jacqueline… _my_ daughter…your granddaughter.”

A look of confusion and panic flashed across the elderly man’s face. Quickly being replaced with a smile.

“Belle! Of course! How wonderful to see you, my dear, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Tuesday Grandpa, we come on Tuesday!” Jacqueline offered.

Once again his smile faltered as he looked at the little girl.

“It’s Tuesday?” Looking at Belle’s concerned face, he quickly plastered a too-bright smile on his own, trying to conceal his confusion.

“Of course it is. I knew that.” It was a lie, but not one he was willing to admit to.

He spent the next few minutes showing his grandchildren around the workshop before his daughter interrupted.

“Papa, I have brought you some bread and eggs.” She held out the basket.

Maurice’s face filled with instant delight. “Why thank you dear, but your mother is already making supper, in fact, it should be done soon.”

Belle felt as if a cold wind had just blown in, pushing away the sun and bringing a ghost to stand eerily by her shoulder.

“My what? Papa?”

“Your mother, dear. I helped her start supper about an hour ago. She should be done soon.”

With those words the bitter smell of burning food reached her nostrils and Belle bolted out of the cellar and ran up the short steps into the cottage.

Opening the door she was overcome by thick black smoke.

Holding her apron to her face she rushed inside.

Grabbing a pitcher of water from the table, she doused the flames rising from a pot of what she supposed had once been food.

After vanquishing the flames, she flew about the house opening windows and fanning the smoke away with her apron.

When she was done, she collapsed in a chair and looked to see her father and children standing dumbstruck in the doorway.

The children quickly found things of interest about the room, but Maurice walked forward as if coming out of a trance, his face full of bewilderment.

“I can’t imagine what happened. It isn’t like Louise to be so forgetful…where is she?”

Maurice looked at his daughter with the sad face of a lost child. With tears in her eyes, Belle realized that this wasn’t some kind of game…Her father…her papa…he couldn’t remember.

Gently taking his hand, she helped him sit. Then, looking him in the eyes, she had to watch his heart break all over again.

“Papa…Mama’s dead….She’s dead Papa…and she has been…for a long time.”

Maurice looked off into the distance as if saying goodbye to a lovely vision that left him in a foreign world that frightened him.

“Louise…dead……………….. Oh yes, I remember…I remember.”

And he did…for now.

Belle left that cottage very concerned.

_What if Papa forgets again? What if he hurts himself? He’s all alone, who will help him?_

Making up her mind, she marched home, determined to talk to Gaston about it.

_That Evening,_

Gaston arrived home in a good mood, with the large pheasant he had killed as a gift for his little wife.

Smiling, he plopped the bird down on the table, waiting for the praise he felt he deserved (and so rarely received) for his contribution. Much to his pleasant surprise, he was greeted by a warm smile and kiss on the cheek from his wife.

“Hello Gaston, I need to talk to you.”

Gaston’s smile disappeared. Belle wanting to talk was never a good thing.

“What about?”

Keeping her smile firmly in place she began.

“I visited my father today…”

“ _Mhm_.”

“And he is very old, Gaston, and his is memory is fading.”

“ _Mhm_.”

“And I want him to come and live with us.”

“WHAT?!”

“He won’t be any trouble.”

“Absolutely NOT! Do you think I am going to have that crazy old loon in MY HOUSE?! NO!”

“GASTON HE’S MY FATHER!”

“THE ANSWER IS NO BELLE!”

With that, Gaston sat down in his chair in front of the fire, kicking off his muddy boots.

Instinctively, Belle picked up the boots and put them away by the door, quickly wiping off the mud as she went.

In the early days of their marriage they had fought day and night over those boots until at last, she gave up.

Deciding that they would only get put away if she did it, Belle began picking up her husband’s boots, and little by little, the action became so ingrained in both of them that the routine now took place without a second thought. Even though once the idea would have been unthinkable to Belle.

Oh, how different she had become from that willful and determined 17-year-old girl.

So far had Belle’s resolve worn away and been replaced by indifferent servitude, that had that 17-year-old looked at the woman as she was now, she wouldn’t have recognized her.

It had been a slow transition, so slow that she had not even seen it was happening, and now she was so changed through the long years of fighting that she would never see.

Someone was judging her silently, across the room a large pair of violet eyes watched her mother clean her father’s boots, and those eyes judged her, as no other’s ever would.

“Complain all you like Gaston, but on this, I will not give up. My father will come live with us tomorrow.”

Having said her piece, she went upstairs to escape the inevitable wrath, and to help strengthen her own resolve with the distance.

Gaston stood with anger coursing through his veins, he would not be dictated to in his own house!

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”


	5. Chapter 4: Papa

** Chapter 4: Papa **

_5 Days Later_

“Maurice- _Welcome!_ ” Gaston said through a forced smile that looked almost like it hurt it was so falsely cheerful.

They had fought for four days nonstop over Maurice’s impending arrival.

The tension had never been as heavy in that house as it was for those four days.

After Belle went upstairs, asserting that her father would be coming to live with them whether he liked it or not, Gaston had followed her, shouting that, father or no father, Maurice was a crazy loon, with whom he refused to live under the same roof.

Pounding on the closed bedroom door he continued to rage, demanding that she let him in, the door wasn’t locked but he didn’t think to check, and yelling that this was **his** house and she would do as he said!

That shouting match had occupied the first day of battle.

By the second, the two were reduced to cold silence and sabotage.

Gaston had awoken to an empty plate and a silent wife who refused to acknowledge him. Not one to be outdone, Gaston determined that if she felt she had the right to ignore her wifely duties, he would make her pay.

So Belle had to endure two days with no firewood for cooking, no money for the market, and a husband who had disappeared, returning the morning of the fourth day of the war as silent and cruel as the grave.

By that afternoon Belle was in tears, begging Gaston to allow her elderly father to live with them.

He had a moment of hesitation, thinking of her condition. He had always been uncomfortable around female tears, but believing that a man needed to keep a strong hand, he refused.

“Woman, **give up!** ”

Her cries silenced.

In a miraculous moment, Belle transformed into the 17-year-old girl who had sacrificed life and happiness for her beloved father. A woman who would fight to the death for those she loved and feared no one.

She rose from the floor, facing him with the burning passion of one long oppressed.

The caged animal had been backed into a corner with no escape, save through the hunter.

Gaston took a step back from this creature he did not recognize.

With a hand raised high in the air, as if calling judgment down from above, she marched toward him with the blind courage of a trapped animal.

“GIVE UP?”

“Belle…”

“ **SHUT UP!** YOU _STUPID_ , _IGNORANT_ , **BEAST**!!!!!”

Never had Gaston been called such things and the shock did, for once in his life, silence him.

“HOW DARE YOU! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? THIS IS **MY** HOME JUST AS MUCH AS IT IS YOURS AND I WILL HAVE MY FATHER HERE!”

“IT IS MY HOUSE…”

“WHO CLEANS IT? WHO COOKS? WHO RAISES THE CHILDREN? I DO! IF YOU WON'T LET HIM COME HERE I WILL TELL THE WHOLE TOWN THAT YOU THREW YOUR FATHER IN LAW OUT INTO THE STREET, DISGRACING YOUR WIFE!”

Few things, if any, mattered more to Gaston than his reputation. Even so, he highly doubted that the town would judge him for refusing the town lunatic a place in his home. He stared at his wife unblinking, analyzing her resolve. To Belle’s eternal shock and gratitude, he relented.

“Very well, bring the lunatic, but I warn you he is your responsibility.”

Belle’s heart soared. She had won! She opened her mouth to thank him but was stopped cold by what he said next.

Even Belle had not realized the extent of his vanity. The fact that she had been able to conquer him in such a way left a bitter taste in Gaston’s mouth and hardening in his heart.

Turning to her he relayed a warning. Moving until they were a mere breath's width apart he hissed in her ear.

“ _Don’t you dare defy me again, or I will divorce you…and you will never see your children…again._ ”

Yes, the animal had beaten the hunter…but she was the one who had been mortally wounded in the fight.

Gaston would continue on believing nothing had changed between them, except he had regained his place as head of the house. The fool didn’t understand the chasm he had created where once only a line stood.

_Back in the Present_

But this unhappy memory was pushed away as Belle and Gaston welcomed her papa into their “home.”

“ _Merci_ Gaston,” Maurice said with a trusting smile.

Full of joy, Belle showed him the bed in the corner of the main room that she had made up for him. She would have preferred to give him a room of his own, but sadly there was not enough space. Still, she had tried to make this space as pleasant as possible.

“Here you go, Papa. This chest is yours too I hope it is alright.”

“It’s perfect Belle.”

With his job done, Gaston clomped out of the door grabbing his rifle on the way.

Maurice watched him leave with concern.

“Belle, is Gaston unhappy about my being here? I would hate to be an inconvenience.”

The elderly man was proud in his own way and was having a very difficult time, feeling ashamed of the reason for his being there, he could not take the knowledge that he was unwelcome as well. It would have made him feel utterly wretched.

With a bright smile, Belle waved away her papa’s concerns saying that not only was Gaston delighted at Maurice’s arrival he was the one to suggest him coming to stay with them.

As relief settled on Maurice Belle wondered how many such little lies she had told him over the years to spare his feelings. She believed it to be worth it and hoped that she was doing the right thing by concealing the truth.

_Outside_

Having been shooed out of the house the three small children were entertaining themselves in the shade of a large tree behind the cottage enjoying the fresh spring weather.

Jacqueline sat pleasantly beneath the large oak building a town out of twigs and leaves. As she worked she wondered how long her Grandpa would be staying with them. After a little deliberation she decided that she was happy for his being there, he was nice, if a little strange.

She knew Mama was happy grandpa had come but she didn’t think papa was. Even at four, she was surprised by the fact that her papa had given into mama on something he had seemed so against.

Giving up on contemplating the reasoning of adults Jacqueline picked up her rag doll and crowned her with a wreath of clover.

_The Queen of the Forest bowed to the Fish King._

_“Welcome your majesty the fish are happy to see you.”_

_All the fish-men and women swam out of their houses to see the Queen of the forests in her green crown._

_A fox bowed and gave her a scepter._

_“Please Madame, the mean tanner will turn us all into hats if you do not save us!”_

_Using her magic the Queen made a big wall all around the animals’ village protecting them from the giant tanner, cobbler, and cook who wanted to hurt them._

_“Don’t worry animals, I will save you!”_

_The crowd cheered as the fish brought her bouquets of seaweed and cakes._

_“From now on, we only eat CAKE!”_

_Happy days had returned._

_But what is that? A GIANT HAS COME! LOOK OUT EVERYONE, RUN!!!_

A foot came crashing down on the leaf-built “kingdom” smashing all the wonderful shops and houses that her imagination had built.

Jacqueline watched spitefully as little Gaston kicked and broke her creations with his big feet! Roaring like a bear he swatted away the dirt clod “Foxes” and flower “Fish People” crushing them. Poor fish people, perhaps they would have preferred to be hats?

“RRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRHHHHH”

He roared, apparently he was a bear, bent on ruining her fun.

Quickly changing roles the boy became a great hunter (like papa.) Holding up an imaginary bow he shot his sister with the imagined arrow.

“DIE BEAR!” (Apparently, she was the bear now.)

Jacqueline watched through narrow eyes as her brother continued on his way leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Digging her small hands into the dirt she fiercely resisted the urge to attack, partly because if papa was still inside she would get a beating for hurting her brother, even if it was Gaston’s fault for being so awful. Papa never saw it that way. But the main reason she was striving for sainthood was for Mama.

Remembering what mama had said about how she loves Gaston and wanted Jacqueline to be kind to him was the primary reason Gaston’s face was not currently in the dirt.

Mama had been sad when she had pinched Gaston, and mama was sad a lot. She didn’t like seeing mama cry and wanted her to be happy, so she was going to be good, so Mama wouldn’t cry anymore.

Jacqueline noted that it is very hard to be good.

Determined in her resolve she began the rebuilding of her “Kingdom”, but it was not to last.

Gaston had returned and this time he had a follower. Jacques waddled over to his sister making roaring noises in her ear and in the process spitting all over her face. Once again Gaston stomped across the leaves roaring and shooting imaginary arrows.

This time being good proved too difficult.

Leaping to her stubby legs she pushed Gaston away.

“Go Away, Gaston!”

Taking Jacques by the arm she jerked him away from where she was playing.

“Go find mama Jacques!”

The baby, having no understanding of her words, continued to roar, scratching her arm with tiny claws.

Meanwhile, Little Gaston had recovered himself and roughly pushed her from behind laughing when she fell on top of her own “town”.

Grabbing a twig she swung around and began to chase her brother swishing the twig back and forth violently through the air making it whistle and trying to make contact with his backside.

The boy had the good sense to run away and began screaming as he led her on a “merry” chase.

The vengeful fury was halted when a man’s hand grabbed the collar of her dress, lifting her partially off the ground. 

For a moment the four-year-old’s heart stopped in terror. Thinking her father had caught her inflicting justice on her brothers she braced herself, closing her eyes, awaiting the slap that was sure to come.

But instead, she felt herself being gently placed back on the ground and heard a shaky old voice speaking kindly. Opening her eyes she saw not the hard face of her father but the old smiling face of grandpa.

“N-Now you must play nicely… your m-mama is tired and all this yelling will make her anxious,” Maurice said smiling warmly at his grandchildren.

Little Gaston ignored him and went back to his games followed by an oblivious Jacques who was too young to care what happened.

Turning to his granddaughter Maurice beamed at the young girl with a smile that to Jacqueline seemed meant just for her.

“Well little mademoiselle, would you like to come help me unpack _hmm_? I need some help deciding where to put everything.”

The little girl nodded her head as the elderly man took her small baby hand in his old withered one and lead her back inside, humming an odd little tune as they went.

Yes, Jacqueline thought she was glad that grandpa had come to stay with them, and she hoped he would never leave.


	6. Chapter 5: Things to Learn

** Chapter 5: Things to Learn **

_2 years later_

Jacqueline rushed through the street, searching the bustle of people going about their business.

“GRANDPA?” She called as she checked different stalls and stores for her grandfather.

Mama had asked grandpa to take her on a walk. The real reason for this was so that the six-year-old could keep an eye on him and not the other way around, a fact that had not been lost on the little girl. However, no sooner had they entered the street than the old man had disappeared.

Now his granddaughter ran frantically, searching for the man she was supposed to watch and was too young to be expected to.

_Where did he go?_

It seemed to Jacqueline that her grandfather got confused more and more easily. More often than not he would call _her_ Belle, which was Mama’s name, and whenever she attempted to correct him he would get very fidgety and embarrassed, to the point where Mama had told her not to correct him anymore.

“GRANDPA?”

Belle’s daughter was a very observant little girl and she knew that something wasn’t right with her beloved grandfather. Jacqueline had shown surprising care for him, becoming his little shadow and would-be protector. It was surprising to all those around that the little girl, with the shortest fuse in history, could have such patience for a senile old man. But Jacqueline was nothing if not loyal.

Maurice had freely shown her the affection that she so longed for from her own father, but so rarely, if ever, received, and as much as the child adored her mother, Belle was so busy taking care of her ever-expanding brood and temperamental husband that she just couldn’t spare all the time she wished to spend with her sole daughter.

So a special bond had formed between the unlikely pair. One that was, perhaps, more surprising than it would have been if those around had really observed the situation.

“GRANDPA!”

Finally, she spotted a face that might be helpful. S

kidding to a stop in front of a rather curvaceous woman with reddish hair, Jacqueline almost knocked the woman over, which would have been a sight worth seeing if she hadn’t been in such a hurry.

“Madame d'Aboville, have you seen my grandpa?”

Madeleine looked down at the little girl and jumped a bit at the sight of the large violet eyes.

Most people found them unnerving. Madeleine couldn’t explain it, after all, they were just the eyes of a little girl, yet they weren’t.

An involuntary shiver went up her spine.

She always got the feeling that if she stared too long into those twin pools of purple, then the girl would have been able to see into her very soul.

Shaking off her superstitions, she smiled at her friend’s daughter.

Having completely missed the child’s question, she began relating the latest news to the six-year-old who had no understanding and couldn’t have cared less.

“Why Jacqueline, _Bonjour_ , is your mother around?”

Before the girl had a chance to respond she was cut off by the latest stream of gossip that Madame d'Aboville had gleaned.

Jacqueline bit her tongue to keep from interrupting. She didn’t have time for this stupid woman, she had to find grandpa!

“Did you hear my dear about the happenings in Paris?”

Jacqueline had the decency to shake her head. If Madeleine had paused for a moment she would have realized that most likely no six-year-old knew the happenings of Paris, but she was too far gone in the story to take that minor fact into account.

“Oh it is just horrible my dear, simply horrible. They have beheaded the king, right in the streets! They say that it ran red with his blood!”

Jacqueline cringed at the sight her well-developed imagination created, but she quickly shook the image away. For as interesting as that was, she still needed to focus on the problem at hand.

“Madame I…”

“Why when I heard I became so ill my darling Charles had to call for the physician.”

Jacqueline returned that information with a blank stare. A dead king swimming in blood was much more interesting than her Mama’s friend’s imagined illnesses.

Trying to stay polite, she tried again to ask her question.

“Madame have you seen…”

“Oh but not to worry about us, no, no, no. I hear the prince is amassing troops to guard our borders against the revolutionaries.”

The little girl curled her fists in frustration at being cut off yet again! She looked through a red haze as she tried to control her temper, but it was extremely difficult. This woman was no help at all, and she had to find grandpa! But she just couldn’t run off because that would be rude.

 _Humph,_ she thought. _Being polite was a complete waste of time!_

“After all we have always governed ourselves, and being on the very edge of the kingdom they shouldn’t trouble themselves with our little principality. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that handsome man preparing for battle. Yes 1793, this won’t be a year soon forgotten. Mark my words,” said Madeleine as she fanned herself.

What little patience Jacqueline possessed had run out, and she could taste blood from biting her tongue so hard.

“OH JUST FORGET IT!” She yelled, and she marched away from the useless older woman.

A scowl that could turn milk set firmly on her face, showing her resentment over that complete waste of time.

Madeleine stared after her in complete shock at such ill-mannered behavior.

Picking up her pace, Jacqueline continued to search.

At last, she spotted him standing in the middle of the street, looking around with a frightened expression on his face, unable to recognize his surroundings.

“Grandpa!” He didn’t respond so she pulled on his sleeve.

Looking down at her there was no recognition on his face.

“Who are you?”

“…What?”

“Have you seen my daughter? I need to find her.”

Jacqueline’s heart sunk.

It was one thing to be mistaken for Mama, but for him to forget her entirely was the most painful thing she had ever experienced in her young life.

Holding back her tears, she smiled as sweetly as she could.

“Yes I have, she’s this way.”

Taking him by the hand, she led him through the crowd.

“I don’t know where she's gone to. She’s about your age, and I _have_ to find her. Her mother will be so worried.”

Jacqueline looked straight ahead, not betraying the horrible feelings of loneliness that increased with each step. She felt as if she had just lost her best friend, and the worst part was he didn’t even remember her.

A blood-curdling scream split the air, resonating through the village, causing everyone to whip around toward the direction of the sound.

Tightening her grip on Maurice’s hand, Jacqueline watched in terror as a large black stallion bucked wildly through the street, knocking over carts and jerking about as if possessed by a demon.

Jacqueline’s blood ran cold as she saw a young girl clutching to the back of the horse for dear life, her cries for help echoing in her ears.

As the enormous beast kicked and beat the air with its powerful hooves its captive grasped at its mane. As she was thrown into the air again and again, each time landing harder against the animal's back, blonde hair was painfully whipped across her face.

She watched horrified as the horse threw the terrified rider once again into the air, sending her higher than ever before.

This time her fingers lost their grip on the animal’s mane.

Frantically she clawed the air trying to regain her grasp, to no avail.

Landing with sickening force on the cobblestones, the poor girl was trampled by the flashing hooves of the still crazed beast.

Jacqueline could hear her howls of pain as the girl’s body broke under the brute force. Men were rushing about trying to contain the horse, but she could still see her being torn apart through their many pairs of legs.

A rough hand spun Jacqueline around and she stared at a giant of a man.

It was her father.

His stern face watched the massacre before turning towards her. His hard blue eyes almost looked through her, sending a shiver up her spine.

“Girl, get your grandfather and go home!”

He stepped away and Jacqueline saw the sun gleaming off the rifle in his hand. She knew she should obey but her feet were frozen to the ground in terror.

“NOW!” he barked back at her, and Jacqueline sprang into action.

Tugging at a now petrified Maurice she managed to coax him to run.

While the two fled Jacqueline heard the sound of two gunshots behind them.

Picking up the pace she pulled her grandfather all the way back to the house. Dragging him through the doorway with all her might she slammed the door closed, and then threw herself in front of it like a barricade against attack.

“Jacqueline what’s wrong? Papa!”

Maurice looked around the cottage wringing his hands, unable to articulate his deep shock at what they had just witnessed.

Belle gently guided him to a chair and placed one of his small inventions in his hands. Lately, Maurice had taken to dismantling and rebuilding the same object over and over again. He would sit like that for hours at a time, only being drawn away if someone broke his routine.

The old man’s shaking hands began to still as he slipped into the mindless task.

Belle looked sadly away and returned her attention to her daughter, who still braced the door as if the devil himself was coming for her.

“Jacqueline, what’s wrong?”

The little girl was still too in shock to answer.

Belle was concerned but decided that probing her would not be the best strategy. Instead, she opted for a distraction.

“Jacqueline go get little Gaston. I have something for the two of you.”

Moving slowly, like trying to wake from a bad dream, she made her way to the back of the house in search of her brother. Upon finding him the two returned inside to see what their mother had planned.

Belle had them sit at the table as she retrieved a blue book from the mantle.

The children’s curiosity piqued immediately, that was Mama’s storybook.

Often during the evenings she would read to them from the pages, bringing magical places and people to life.

Even Papa couldn’t escape its magic grasp. Gaston would pretend not to listen while his wife read, but he could never fully escape the wonderful world her words created.

“Are you going to read us a story?” asked little Gaston

“No my darling. I am going to teach _you_ to read.”

The two children looked at each other with uncertainty. They loved having Mama read to them, but that was because a part of them believed she was the creator of those wonderful stories. To them, the book was just a pointless prop, and neither found the idea of sitting still for lessons appealing.

“But we must be quiet your brothers are napping upstairs.”

Jacqueline’s face wrinkled in disgust at the mention of her unwanted siblings.

There were six of them now, five boys and only one girl, her.

After Jacques, had come the twins, Henri and Albert. They had just turned one, and about a month ago Mama had had another baby, Pierre.

Personally, Jacqueline found each brother more annoying than the last, though none quite taxed her nerves like _Petite_ Gaston.

She knew everyone else had been pleased with the new baby, but frankly, Jacqueline felt it was getting a little crowded upstairs, and they could all do with some thinning in the ranks. The main candidate up for elimination being Little Gaston.

For the next hour, both children were confined to the table while enduring the drudgery of their first reading lesson.

Gaston quickly lost interest and amused himself by alternating between rocking his chair back and forth, and complaining, until his sister wanted to cram the book down his throat just to get him to be quiet.

Jacqueline, on the other hand, was still too upset about the earlier happenings to pay close attention. Try as she might to concentrate she couldn’t escape the sound of the girl’s screams.

Belle noticed that her daughter veered between paying attention and being lost in her thoughts, so she released the two from bondage, watching as Gaston bolted out the door and Jacqueline walked very solemnly towards her favorite tree.

She wondered what could have happened to upset the child so? She didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

Gaston came through the door, looking to be in a foul mood.

Setting his rifle unceremoniously on the table he took a seat, not noticing the book he had knocked to the floor in the process.

It was only mid-afternoon, Gaston was hardly ever home at this hour, so his sudden appearance concerned Belle.

“Gaston?”

He didn’t look at her.

Instead, he absently petted the head of the hound pup he had given little Gaston on his last birthday. Already the animal was the size of a grown dog, with none of the good sense.

_Outside_

Jacqueline sat against the trunk of the large oak tree, trying to hide in the safety of its protective shadow.

Drawing her knees to her chest she tried to make herself as small as possible, hiding from the image of what she had witnessed.

Closing her eyes she tried to banish the sight of that poor girl being trampled by her horse.

A deep-rooted fear took hold on the young girl. For as long as she lived she would never forget the complete terror of watching that girl being trampled to death. It would haunt her forever.

_Back in the House_

“Gaston, what has happened?”

Sighing he raised hard eyes to hers.

“The Chatelaine girl…”

“Adele, what about her?”

“She’s dead…her horse went mad, trampled her underfoot. I shot the horse, but it was too late.”

Belle involuntarily clutched her throat in horror. “Poor thing…her poor parents.”

Adele had been a sweet girl of only twelve. Belle remembered the day she was born, her parents had been so happy to have a daughter. As she had grown no one could have found a more agreeable child.

Though she would have never admitted it, on occasion Belle had envied Adele’s mother her well-behaved, even-tempered daughter.

Qualities that Jacqueline was sadly lacking.

Tears welled in Belle’s eyes at the thought of the beautiful golden-haired girl who would never smile again.

 _What if it had been my child?_ She thought.

Maybe it was her unconscious desire to focus on anything besides the traumatizing news that made her mind search for any possible distraction. Which, unfortunatly, came via the sound of ripping paper.

She turned to see the forgotten storybook being torn to shreds by the hound pup.

“NO!!!”

Quickly taking off her shoe she threw it at the dog who, relatively unfazed by the dainty slipper, bounded out of the open door in search of more agreeable playmates. 

Falling to the floor she scrambled to collect the shreds of paper. A few sections were salvageable but the book as a whole was ruined.

“NO!”

“What was that?”

“It was my book! You knocked it off the table and that MUTT ruined it!”

Gaston was annoyed at her apparent despair over such a trifling matter.

“Well, why was it on the table?!”

“I was teaching the children to read-”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Belle froze, and Gaston visibly stiffened.

He had never had a problem with her reading to the children and technically he had never said anything against the idea of them learning to read, but that was probably because they had never discussed it.

“Why would they need that? Gaston should be learning how to hunt and track, those are useful skills, and the girl should be learning how to take care of a husband. _Reading_ won’t do her any good.”

Turning to him, her face shone with disbelief.

“What is wrong with you Gaston? Don’t you understand? This isn’t just a book, it is a way to visit places you could otherwise never see. It tells you stories of heroes you can admire and aspire to emulate.”

“It’s a waste of time!” He bit out venomously.

“Would you take away my **one escape**?” Belle cried out bitterly.

Immediately she knew her mistake.

Clamping a hand over her mouth she tried to silence what had already been spoken.

Gaston’s face hardened, growing dark with anger.

Standing, he towered above her, as she remained kneeling on the floor.

For what felt like an eternity they remained locked in each other’s gaze. Her’s pleading and fearful, his unforgiving.

Without speaking he stormed out of the house and disappeared into the outside world.

Belle buried her face in her hands as fear gripped her heart.

_Don’t you dare defy me again, or I will divorce you…and you will never see your children again._

Gaston’s words echoed in her mind.

Although he hadn’t threatened her since that day Belle hadn’t forgotten.

She would never forget.

And she had lived every day of her life since in fear that he would hold true to his words, and take her children from her.

He could do it too.

The law granted complete rights over children, business, and property to the husband. In the event of a divorce, she would be left with **nothing** and **no one** to help her.

It was the thought of losing her children that had kept her silent and submissive these past two years. But now she feared that she had gone too far in angering him, and her worst nightmare would be realized.

_Why did I say it? Just a few words and he could take them away from me…WHY DID I SAY IT?!_

Oh, she hated him!

Hated him for the complete control he had over her.

Hated how at every turn he seemed determined to cut away another small piece of her until there was nothing left to take!

But most of all she hated that without him she would have nothing...

He could take them away, and she would never be able to hold her babies in her arms again.

Once again terror threatened to consume her.

Still, on her knees, she silently begged God, begged him to make Gaston forget, please forget what she had said and leave her with her children.

She promised to willingly make no complaint of her life if He would prevent what she feared most.

Hours passed and still he didn’t return.

Belle cooked dinner and put the children to bed.

She managed to get her father to eat and go to sleep.

And then…

...she waited.

In front of the fireplace there were two chairs. One large and imposing, showing strain from bearing the weight of its muscular owner. The other a much smaller, simpler, rocking chair.

It was a deceptively cozy arrangement.

Taking a seat in the rocking chair Belle stared into the embers as she waited for Gaston to return, too anxious to go to sleep.

When at last he did return it was not with loud stomping steps or harsh words like she expected. Instead, she watched as the large man-made an effort, albeit clumsily, to walk softly across the floor, trying not to wake the old man sleeping in the corner.

As he came into the soft light from the fire she searched his face for signs of anger or aggression. To her surprise, he looked uncharacteristically calm and almost anxious.

“Here,” he said as he shoved a brown paper parcel into her hands.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.” He looked like a small boy waiting for his mother’s approval.

Hesitantly she unwrapped the paper revealing a book, with a dark blue cover very similar to the one so recently destroyed.

Gaston scanned her face for a response. When he didn’t receive one he ventured forth some more information.

“It’s a book! Like your last one. Blue, with stories.”

Belle stared back in confusion. The man before her held no resemblance to the man she had known these past 13 years. This man was attempting to right a wrong, something her husband had never done.

She must not have looked very pleased because soon Gaston’s expression returned to normal.

“What’s wrong now?!”

“N-Nothing! Thank you, Gaston.”

“Well, it’s just like the other one, Blue...with stories.”

Something about his voice sounded uncertain.

Kissing her briskly out of habit he left her by the fire and went upstairs to bed. Belle looked back at the book. Turning it over in her hands she read the title.

_Astronomy through the ages._

Like a bolt of lightning realization hit.

_Blue with stories…_

There was no denying that this book did look exactly like the previous one, except for one flaw, the title. This was a book on astronomy, not stories, but Gaston hadn’t known the difference, why?

_Gaston can’t read!_

Suddenly it all made sense, why he was so against books, why he didn’t want his children learning to read.

He was ashamed of his own ignorance, and the only way he could think to compensate was to believe wholeheartedly that the skill he had been deprived of was useless.

Gaston didn’t want his children to read because he didn’t want to be viewed as less in their eyes.

For the first time since their marriage, Belle felt pity for Gaston. She could never love him and would never forgive him. But for the rest of her days, she would pity him for having so little that he could not allow himself to realize what he had been robbed of.

She was still determined to teach her children to read. But she felt sorry (for once) for their father’s wounded pride. And reasoned that…

_I can always teach them next year._

Sadly, though she didn’t intend it that _year_ moved farther and farther away until it never came at all.

Placing the peace offering on the mantle Belle joined her husband in sleep. Dreaming as she had every night for the past 13 years of a dark forest, with an intimidating castle, where a voice called out to her.


End file.
